Of Comfortably Clad Cajuns and Sprigs of Mistletoe
by Tirya King
Summary: One-shot. Inspired by a prompt. Remy offers Rogue more than one surprise on Christmas Eve. ROMY.


Of Comfortably Clad Cajuns and Sprigs of Mistletoe

She was never a big fan of Christmas, as a general rule. If it wasn't everyone being consumed with what to buy for people they didn't even like, it was the endless get-togethers and parties and pretending to enjoy it all. And oh God the music…

Rogue was in her own personal Hell, and it sounded like "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree." Alright, perhaps she was being a little melodramatic, but if there was one more phone shoved in her face to "capture a moment," she was going to drain each and every last one of them dry. In her last-ditch effort to avoid the majority of the festivities, she chose a spot on the couch furthest away from the tree and its loud occupants.

"Well don' you look all full o' th' Christmas Spirit," said a voice just behind her.

"The med bay's gonna be all full o' your shriveled corpse if you don't back off, Cajun," she snorted, not bothering to reward him with so much as a glance.

As was his usual annoying habit, Remy either didn't get the hint or ignored it, and walked around the couch to sit at her side. Either was equally possible. She was fully content with continuing to ignore him, but a garish flash of red and green grabbed her attention.

He was dressed in what might have been the ugliest Christmas sweater conceived of by man, complete with puff balls, tiny bells, and even a sequined star on top of a tree.

She amended her earlier belief: _now_ she was in her own personal Hell. It sounded like "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree" and looked like Christmas vomited all over an annoying-as-hell Cajun. If he noticed her horrified gaze, he chose not to acknowledge it and merely offered a wide grin.

Was it possible to drain her own life force? She wanted to find out.

"The hell are you wearing?" she couldn't help but ask. "Please tell me it's laundry day and you had no choice but to wear your grandmother's sweater?"

"Au contraire, ma chère," he said. "Dis newly arrived beauty arrived today. 's a gift from Henri an' Mercy."

"He wasn't kidding. He really does hate you."

Even still, that stupid grin never faltered nor faded from his smug-ass face. All Rogue wanted to do was ignore him and return to ignoring everyone else too, but she knew it was a wish made in vain. As charming as Remy LeBeau could be, sometimes, his ability to annoy far outshined it. It was probably another mutation of his that never got written down.

And now he had his sights set on his fellow Southerner, and she knew she made the perfect target.

"Why y' in such a foul mood, Chère?" he asked. "It's Christmas Eve, non?"

Rogue just shrugged and looked back at the festivities. She knew that as one of the members of the senior team, she should be setting a good example for the younger students and taking part. The fact was, her heart just wasn't in it. She was never much for holidays, and one as… loud and bright as Christmas really wasn't her thing.

For further evidence of this, all she needed was to look at that hideous sweater of Remy's. It was a testament to his good looks that he somehow made it work. Not that she would ever tell him of course. His ego didn't need any more stroking.

"It's just another holiday," was all she said instead.

"Hardly," he scoffed. "'s a time f' family an' gettin' together even if y' ain' into de whole Jesus t'ing. F' people like us, dat ain' "jus' another holiday.""

Ok, he had a point. A small point. For over half of them, herself included, the X-Men were the only family they had. So what? Did they really need a whole to-do about it? It all seemed so… fake.

"Y'know your problem?" he continued.

"An annoyin' eyesore of a Swamp Rat?"

"Y' take t'ings way too serious." He nodded his head over to the main archway where a sprig of mistletoe hung. Several of the mansion's females were hanging around it, giving coy looks to the several male residents who were stubbornly staying away. "Lookit th' fun they're havin'."

She fixed him with a dark scowl. "Really?" she asked. Was he actually suggesting she take part in the one thing that she couldn't truly do? Joke or not, it wasn't funny, and if he was going to sit there and make fun of her for an uncontrollable mutation, he could do it without her there.

Rogue stood up and turned to walk away, but was caught when he reached for her gloved hand. Her attempt to tug free was unsuccessful, and her patented baleful glare did nothing to sway him. "Let go o' me," she hissed. "Y'ain't funny."

"Ain' tryin' t' be," he replied, standing up. He still held her hand and used it to tug her towards the front door. Thankfully, he avoided the archway with the mistletoe. She didn't think she could stand to be faced with being under it. Even that small bit of holiday fun was denied to her.

"Where are we goin'?" she asked, fixing his red and green woolen back with the same glare, though it was as immune as the rest of him.

"T' see your present."

Her present? Her green eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she went with him nonetheless. Her curiosity was piqued even as she realized she'd not gotten him anything for Christmas. What did one get a man who could steal whatever he liked?

Speaking of which…

"Merry Christmas, Chère," Remy said, opening the door to lead her outside. Knowing his absolute hatred of any temperature below eighty degrees, Rogue really began to wonder what he was up to. It wasn't until she looked past him and to the right that she saw it: a black and green sports bike with a huge ugly red bow on it that could only have come from him.

She felt him slip the key into the hand he held, but her eyes were fixed on the bike in shock. He'd actually gotten this for her? But why? He had money, but something that nice couldn't be cheap. Unless…

"Did you steal this for me?" she asked him with a side glance.

"Non!" he said with a pout. "I paid f' dat bow, I'll have y' know."

She could feel her annoyance fading into amusement. With him, you could never tell whether or not he stole something or actually paid for it. Half the time, he thought it was funny and played along with either assumption. A smile broke through despite herself and her cheeks warmed even in the cold weather.

Rogue crossed her arms, but couldn't keep her laughter in. He grinned in response, still looking absolutely ridiculous. "Alright," she said, nudging him back towards the house with her shoulder. "Let's get you inside before you freeze."

His grateful smile was obvious. "Merci."

When they were back in the entryway, Rogue looked down at the key. Her own bike, huh? Oh the others were going to be jealous for sure. No doubt the Cajun's many admirers from the younger team would be heartbroken as well. Was it wrong to feel slightly satisfied at that?

Knowing him, he just got it for her so he wouldn't be forced to ride bitch all the time when they took his.

"You're crazy, Rem," she sighed, looking up into his expectant red eyes. He looked just like a kid who'd presented a valentine to a girl he liked. "But thank you all the same."

"Pas de problem," he said as if it didn't matter, though she saw he was pleased. Then, because he was Remy and this was what he did, he took a smaller wrapped gift from his back pocket and offered it to her. "This too."

"Remy…" Rogue slipped the bike key into her pocket and accepted the second gift. "Stop getting' me things."

"Non."

She walked at his side back toward the main room while she opened the gift. When the wrapping paper slipped away, she paused in her steps to see what was underneath. A folded green scarf the color of her eyes peeked out with a matching set of gloves made of soft deerskin. It was too tempting to not try on right away.

Rogue immediately tugged off her old gloves with her teeth and tucked them into her pocket. The green gloves fit her perfectly and were warm without constricting too much movement. He'd clearly put some thought into it. The scarf itself felt perfect as she slipped it around her neck as well.

"You done good, Cajun," she said, stepping forward to hug him, ugly Christmas sweater and all.

"Y' sure?" he asked softly, his breath warming her cheek though they dared not touch. He held her close, and this time she allowed herself to relax into it. He smelled of spice and leather, with that undertone of cigarette smoke she hated. This time she'd let it go.

"Very," she reassured him. "But… I don't have y' gift yet, and—"

"Don' worry 'bout that," he said. "Y' offered me a home, Chère. That's plenty."

"Yeah, but—"

"Hush an' just let me hold y'."

She sighed and did as she was told. Grand theft auto on her account was probably worth a hug at the very least. It was only then that she noticed they were near a small gaggle of his young admirers. Ha, eat your hearts out, girls.

But why were they…?

"Uh, Remy?"

"Oui, Chère?"

She looked up at the archway… it was distinctly not the archway they'd passed under the first time, the archway they'd taken on purpose to avoid this one. The one that had more than one young lady lingering nearby in hopes of a holiday kiss.

Remy, meanwhile, was content to stay as he was, holding her in his arms without a care in the world.

Damn him and his ugly-ass sweater too. He did this on purpose…

Rogue could practically feel him smirking, and the desire to drain him dry returned with a vengeance. If he thought he could buy her goodwill with a stolen bike and some gloves, he was sadly… But then he lifted the edge of her scarf and held it against her lips. Before she could react, he pressed his lips to hers, using the fabric as a safe barrier, his other hand resting on her waist to keep her near.

She was so stunned that he managed a good long kiss before she had the wherewithal to step away. Her face burned, and she stubbornly avoided looking at anyone else who may have seen it. With the archway's prominence at the front parlor where the party was, she had no doubt that everyone was witness to the Cajun's stunt.

"You…" she jabbed a finger at his chest and narrowed her eyes at him, though the cheerful sequins on his sweater were distracting.

"Moi," he grinned.

"You cocky, arrogant, smug little…"

"Y' goin' make me blush."

Rogue poked his chest again, but his grin only widened. That was it. She was leaving his swamp ass for… for Pietro! Or something. She gave up in a growl of frustration and tossed the offending scarf edge back over her shoulder and into place. Her chin lifted in defiance as she pushed past him to sit next safely between Kitty and Kurt, the latter often enough to act as effective Remy Repellant.

"Joyeux Noël, Chère!"

"Shaddup."


End file.
